


Creature Comforts

by WhimperSoldier



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hannibal AU, M/M, the regent dies tho so there is that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:34:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8538541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimperSoldier/pseuds/WhimperSoldier
Summary: He wants to dig his way into Damen’s head and root around, crawl into his skin and walkabout, take him apart like a clock and find where, and maybe for who, he ticks. He wants to press their mouths together until he tastes blood. Laurent wants nothing more than to take off his people suit, to walk bare and free like Damen, but all he can do is cry.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I felt all sad about Hannibal lately so I figured everyone can do with a little serial killer AU.

Laurent can feel his blood thin to ice.

“Where is the director?” Nik asks, as if the monster before them has any fear of his shaky fingers pulled taut around the trigger of his gun. Laurent has little care for his uncle, director or no, but the overwhelming sense of betrayal leaves his heart pounding into his ribs and his head to swirl. He absentmindedly tucks a long strand of hair away from his face and realizes he only succeeded in smearing blood that had crawled its way under his nails.

“He’s in the pantry,” Damen smirks, the classical cut to his jaw making his eyes shine. His nose had broken from where Laurent had rammed the heel of his hand and the swirl of copper along his upper lip made him look like an avenging angel in the moonlight. “I had really hoped you wouldn’t be here, Nik, I really liked you.”

Laurent, hand wobbling as he emulated Nik’s shooting stance, couldn't help but notice the smooth ripple of muscle Damen had hid expertly under shapeless shirts and baggy coats. He looks larger than life now, all of the murders overlaid across his face, and Laurent can’t help but want to throw up, run to him, shoot himself, so many possibilities all echoing around his skull.

Nik goes down with a fist to the head, his teeth must be rattling in his head and all Laurent can do it hold his gun and shiver like a child, the emotions of half a dozen victims crawling between his thoughts and ripping him apart from the inside.

His uncle has fallen silent in the pantry, blood loss or death, Nik remains unmoving on Damen’s expensive granite tile flooring, and Laurent points the barrel of his gun to Damen’s temple.

“Laurent,” Damen whispers, intimate, like a lover. They had never gotten to the physical side of things, never moved past flirting over brandy in Damen’s office as they shifted around Laurent’s trust issues and childhood trauma. He smiles, lights up his face and Laurent wants nothing more than to reciprocate, to give into his raging empathy and copy the mannerisms. “Can you see me yet?”

“Why?” It comes out a croak, cracking and small, and Damen just smiles indulgently, as if looking at a child.

“I left you love notes, flower, did you like them?” Damen is unarmed but Laurent can feel his lizard brain wailing, screaming, and when Damen wraps his warm hands around the gun, Laurent can feel his fingers slacking until the monster no longer wearing his people suit presses in close. “You were too bright for them, like a star, I knew if no one stopped up, helped you, you might burn out. You are too lovely to ever burn out.”

“Those were people Damianos, with lives and families and pain,” Laurent tried, channeling the sleeping special agent laying prone on the floor. Damen looked unimpressed, the tilt of his lip giving the air of disappointment. “What do you want from me?”

“Don't ask stupid question, you know that,” Damen scoffed, throwing Laurent’s gun from his fingers and not flinching when it landed across the room. “ _Damianos_ , you haven’t called me that in months, your mouth is open but none of your words will come out. Talk to me.”

Laurent wanted to cry, to get angry like he had in their sessions, Damen urging him along and Laurent spilling all of the pent up emotions too dark for any one person to handle. He wants to dig his way into Damen’s head and root around, crawl into his skin and walkabout, take him apart like a clock and find where, and maybe for who, he ticks. He wants to press their mouths together until he tastes blood. Laurent wants nothing more than to take off his people suit, to walk bare and free like Damen, but all he can do is cry.

“I can’t,” Laurent tries. Words have always been his weapon of choice, but now they fail him, make him stumble and where he expects a knife to the gut or a bullet to the brain, he gets warm arms wrapping him in an embrace and strong fingers, practiced hands, scoop him up.

Laurent sobbed for his lack of innocence, screamed at the hopefully cooling body of his uncle, and wailed for the shattering of every wall he built around his mind and heart. Damen walked across the bloodied floor and Laurent wanted to laugh at the symbolism, the darkness behind his eyes, and yet not a drop will touch the soles of his shoes.

The shallow slash of Damen’s knife along the side of his stomach was bleeding sluggishly but with a warm smile, he just pressed down, the flare of pain blooming behind Laurent’s eyelids. His body got heavier, like he was sinking down, battling the waves of sleep until his hands drooped and his head fell limp onto the broad expanse of Damen’s shoulder.

His house looked different. The small windows facing the large span of land seem like an untouched ocean. Even from his livingroom, Laurent could hear his horses neighing in the barn, calling out for him after his extended stay in the hospital.

Vannes offered to help, humming around the house with a false smile and a splash of pity in her eyes. She was told that morning what the lab found in Damen’s house, the pounds of flesh belonging to the most dangerous animal of all, placed with care into meals, appropriately labeled and in lilting greek, small place cards simply reading Enjoy. 

The new psychologist, a fresh-faced boy of twenty-six brought in after Laurent’s object failure and Damen’s escape, claimed the lack of meal for Laurent implied Damianos Akelios was to kill him before serving his flesh to his uncle, head of the force tasked to find the Lion of Ios. He had theories spouting every which way, many unsubstantiated, and when Laurent was particularly high on a delicious mix of pain meds, he imagined how Damen would sting the snobby man up. He imagined his deft hands doing those silly knife tricks in his spacious kitchen and how Damen would teach him, show where the fat lined a human leg, where to cut to slice open a chest to best get to the organs. 

When he finally was released, both from the hospital and FBI custody, he sat in the center of his horses as they trotted along the field, a few coming up to huff into his hair. He would smile, rub warm palms along their muzzles. It took exactly two months to get a mole into the investigation and almost another two for there to be any information worthwhile to him, if not them.

It was only when a simple murder caught his eye did he pack his bags and fly to Italy. Home invasion of sorts, a priest was killed in his church, half buried under the floorboard. Local policia claimed it was an aborted body dump but Laurent saw the artistry in the claw marks expertly arranged in the wooden floors, the warping of beams towering over the body, it’s face twisted in a scream. Laurent knew from a single look that the man was a pediphile, same as so many others the FBI had collected.

“Serial killers don’t just change their MO’s halfway through their murder sprees!” His uncle had tried to push, to ignore the sudden pattern the Lion’s victims had taken, but when Damen had bit back, it all came into view with shocking clarity. Damen killed these monsters as a way to court Laurent, to give him closure for what Laurent could never get back. This man was more of the same, a way to help heal, to feel power of those who feel on it. 

Laurent left with no word but a small fire kindled in his chest.

It took half a day to find the house, white and open like those found a stone thrown away in Greece. Plants lined the walkway and the door was unlocked. The inside was clean but lived in, books piled high in subjects Damen had shown no interest in when the talked but that Laurent had shown an interest in learning. He almost spun around and left, walked back into the worn comfort of his farmhouse and horses, but a flash of red caught his eye, blood on white.

It was a small puddle that had spread from under a door, creeping along the cracks in the stone. As if pulled in by magnetism, an undeniable urge, the door swung open easily, lighting the body beautifully in the dusklight.

The contorting of the body was soft, as if he might wake up if Laurent just called out. He had warm brown skin and smooth muscles that were stilled in death. Damen’s double lounged across the chalice, naked save the artfully draped cloth, shaggy hair obscuring his face to avoid the differences in features. A offering, a clue, a promise, all flashing behind Laurent’s eyelids. His slit throat, the way Laurent had described killing the real Damen, had sent a spray to lifeblood up and out, painting the floor and the rich fabric of the lounge a gory copper where it had dried.

“Do you like it?” Laurent remained still, not wanting to believe that Damen would be so stupid as to remain in the house in hopes that Laurent might have come. Laurent turned slowly, his pulse speeding in excitement. 

Damen was splattered in blood, small drops collecting in his eyelashes and spilling down his cheeks. His teeth were bright behind nut brown lips and when he reached forward and ran a crimson hand down Laurent’s cheek, he could see Damen’s pupils dilate in arousal. Laurent pulled his hand up before pressing a small kiss to the rough skin of his palm.

He could taste the blood on his lips. Watching the small contraction of his throat swallowing, Damen rushed forward, animal ferocity bringing them together in a nash of teeth and tongues. Laurent’s nails scratched gashes down Damen's arms, his sure fingers bringing his legs up to wrap around a tight waist, their warm breaths mixing between happy exhales and bites that reach so deep, they bleed.

Damen, so strong, so sure in his movements, carefully lowered Laurent to the floor, stripping them of their clothes until nothing could reach between them, not Laurent’s inhibitions nor Damen’s reservations, just the feel of rubbing skin, warmth, the salty tang of sweat and come, the sweet bite of iron.

\---

Laurent wakes slowly and then all at once, his back smarting and the entirety of his hips bruised in the most delicious way possible. He can feel his loose hair billowing out across the silk sheets, warm from the body of the man behind him, and when it’s only when he lets his arms tumble back down to the mattress does he sees the small spattering of orange blossoms across the side table.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out or hit me up with ideas on my tumblr: http://whimper-soldier.tumblr.com


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